


The Road to Ruin

by xianvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barebacking, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xianvar/pseuds/xianvar
Summary: The stuff is glittery and sticky and everything they’ve been warned about. Not that they’ve taken the warnings seriously—who the heck would have thought that Christophé had gotten his hands on actual fuckingsex pollenof all things??





	

**Author's Note:**

> Song title from Fall Out Boy's Alone Together, because as always I am ten years behind as far as music is concerned.
> 
> I know sexpollen isn't everybody's cup of tea, but I did my very best to make it as non-dubcon as possible. Still, YMMV, so read at your own risk!  
> Also, this is my first time writing for this fandom, so I hope it's alright?
> 
> Unbeta'd, which means all mistakes are mine--if you find one, tell me and I'll gladly fix it!

The stuff is glittery and sticky and everything they’ve been warned about. Not that they’ve taken the warnings seriously—who the heck would have thought that Christophé had gotten his hands on actual fucking _sex pollen_ of all things??

But it _is_ the real stuff, even though they won’t realize this until some time later. At present, it’s simply a little… uncomfortable.

“It’s itchy!” Victor complains, still laughing. So is the rest of the group—Phichit and Chris and Otabek; JJ has left a while ago with his parents, smile back on his face despite his fall from grace, as he had put it when he congratulated Yūri on his silver. Little Yurio, too, has been spirited away at some point by Yakov or Lilia; something about a phone call to his dad? Yūri isn’t one hundred percent sure, but it’s not like it matters in the face of _Victor_ , lightly dusted in _glitter_. Yūri giggles. Victor is right, though, Yūri’s skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere the glitter has touched him. Which is probably every square inch of bare skin, now that Yūri is looking. It even feels like it’s gone up his nose. Which is pretty gross.

 “But you’re cute, like this!” The grin is exuberant on Victor’s face, and for a moment, Yūri thinks he’s going to melt from the way Victor’s eyes crinkle as he stares at Yūri like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen. Victor’s shirt is unbuttoned for some reason Yūri can’t remember any more, and they haven’t even really drunk that much. They’ve just… had a little fun, after the sponsors and non-skaters had gone to bed. But Victor—Victor is looking _good_ , so maybe Yūri knows where the expression on Victor’s face is coming from. He’s probably as sappy right now, now that he’s thinking about it.

“Oh my god, guys, go get a room,” Phichit says, playfully shoving Yūri. “And maybe wash off that glitter, you look like disco balls!”

“I look amazing!” Yūri exclaims, affronted, at the same time as Victor says, a small smirk playing on his lips, “I think we might do just that.”

The look he sends Yūri sends shivers down his spine and wipes the laughter from his face; he can feel his blood rush south. “I—yeah, I… yeah,” Yūri stutters, and then Victor is grabbing his hand and dragging him from the room, the catcalls following them until the elevator doors close behind them.

~*~

“I’m parched,” Yūri says, unable to look away from Victor’s face. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stop from jumping Victor right then and there, and that’s—that’s not so new, he’s been drawn to Victor and his smile and his so so so soft skin all evening, but this intensity takes him off guard, almost knocks him over.

He feels like he might die if he’s not touching Victor soon, like--  
“Are you sure the glitter wasn’t the real stuff?” he asks, his voice weird even to his own ears.

Victor’s cheeks are flushed lightly by now, the blush slowly creeping down his chest. His nipples are erect, Yūri notices as his eyes follow the column of Victor’s throat.

“No,” Victor says, and his voice is rough in a way that make Yūri’s eyes snap back up to his face. The elevator dings in that moment to announce their arrival, and it’s enough to make Yūri jerk back from here he has been getting closer and closer to Victor without even really noticing it.

They look at each other for a moment.

“Room. Now,” is all Victor says, and then Yūri is already down the hallway, fumbling for his key card.

~*~

The door slams shut behind them, mostly because the moment they’re both inside, Victor is all over him, crowding close and pushing him into the door, the handle poking into Yūri’s hip. He notices, but he can’t really care, because Victor is kissing him _finally_ , and makes Yūri’s skin feel a little less tight, eases the feeling of drowning that has been choking him since the elevator.

“I think,” he gasps between desperate kisses, “we’re fucked.”

Victor grins into his mouth. “Not yet.” Yūri feels the words more than he can hear them, and fucking hell, what are they waiting for? Why are they still both in their pants?

As if he were reading Yūri’s mind, Victor starts kissing the corner of his mouth, his chin, down his throat while his hands undo the buttons at an incredible pace. He swirls his tongue around Yūri’s left nipple once he reaches it and makes short work of Yūri’s pants. Yūri has no clue how Victor can still be so coherent when Yūri is burning up from the inside.

“Please,” he murmurs, not even sure what he’s asking for right now, just that he needs _something_. Victor chuckles against his skin as he slowly sinks to his knees, tongue drawing a path from Yūri’s nipples to his navel—“Ah, that _tickles,_ ” he complains, even as he moans—and down lower, past the waistband of Yūri’s shorts. And then Victor mouths at Yūri’s clothed cock, and it’s enough to make his head slam back against the door, brain short-circuiting.

Victor chuckles again, the vibrations doing _thing_ to Yūri, and Yūri can’t help but bury his hands in Victor’s hair, not really urging him on but trying to steady himself.

“Shhh,” Victor makes, breath puffing against the damp fabric of Yūri’s shorts, and it’s not _helping_ , it’s the _worst_.

“Please.” He doesn’t even care that he’s begging; he’s so hard by now it hurts, and he just—he just needs release.

“I got you,” Victor murmurs against his cock as his hands find the waistband and start pulling it down. Yūri’s cock is so sensitive by now that the rough drag of fabric is just this side of painful. And then he’s finally free, his cock whipping back up and smearing pre-come all over Victor’s cheek. Yūri is only peripherally aware of Victor urging him to step out of his pants and shorts—and when did he get rid of Yūri’s shoes?—before his breath ghosts over the head of Yūri’s cock.

“Look at me,” Victor commands, and when Yūri does, he looks absolutely sinful, giving him a heavy-lidded glance, just before he licks a stripe up Yūri’s cock from base to head.

Yūri moans, unable to keep the sounds from spilling out of him. Victor hums, and this is not going to last, this will be over way too soon—he tries to warn Victor, but he can’t even do that, caught in the sensations of Victor going down on him again and again, sucking and swirling his tongue and stopping every time Yūri is just hairsbreadth from coming.

He needs—he needs—“P-please,” and Victor gets it, takes Yūri’s cock deep enough to make it bump against the back of his throat, and this time, when he hums and pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head, it’s too much, dragging Yūri into a swirling abyss of feelings as his orgasm rolls over him and he spills into Victor’s mouth, knees going weak.

And yet—and yet it’s not really enough, his skin still burning, his cock never really softening.

Victor rises to his feet fluidly, pulling Yūri up with him. “Shh, I got you,” he repeats as he guides Yūri over to the bed, and Yūri is beyond words, just follows. He knows that Victor has him, trusts him with all there is. Trusts him to handle Yūri and this incapacitating sex pollen.

And that’s about the last coherent though Yūri has, because Victor is pushing him down onto the bed, getting him onto his knees with his face and chest pressed into the bed, legs spread to expose his ass. And it should be uncomfortable, should be embarrassing, but all Yūri can think is _Victor_ , and it makes his cock throb.

Victor settles himself behind Yūri, his hands running over his back in a way that grounds Yūri even as they edge lower and lower, culminating in squeezing Yūri’s ass and pulling his cheeks apart. This time, Yūri’s moan is muffled by his pillow, and he’s probably getting glitter everywhere, but he doesn’t care, because Victor is kissing his tailbone, followed by a sharp pain in Yūri’s left are cheek—“You—bit—aah.”  Yūri can’t even finish his sentence, because Victor is fondling his balls and kissing his perineum before licking his way up to Yūri’s puckered rim, and then—Yūri’s read about it, of course, but he’s never thought people did that in real life, but Victor _is_ , that’s his tongue, undeniably, that traces Yūri’s rim, and he’s never felt anything like this, it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s just—Yūri bites his pillow to muffle his scream as Victor’s tongue breaches him, so unlike anything he’s ever had up his ass, and he’s barely aware of the finger that joins Victor’s tongue after a while.

There’s a short break after an indeterminable amount of _too much sensation_ that allows Yūri to breathe, great gasping breaths because he doesn’t think he’s been getting any air for however long Victor’s been taking him apart, and then Victor is back—and he must have been getting lube, because his fingers are slicked by more than just saliva when he circles Yūri’s rim.

He kisses Yūri’s back, his spine, his shoulders as he works him open, much too slow, and then he curls his fingers and Yūri is shouting into his pillow again because it’s too much and he needs—he gets a hand on his cock, pumps once, twice, and when Victor matches his rhythm, brushing his prostate in time with Yūri’s strokes it’s over for him, and he feels himself rushing towards his second orgasm of the evening; he’s so close, so so very close—but relieve proves elusive, no matter how much he pushes back to meet Victor’s fingers.

“Oh,” he feels more than hears Victor say, “we’re already at second phase.” It takes too long for Yūri to parse that sentence, and he can feel his ass clench around Victor’s fingers, which—

“Fuck me,” he gasps out, “Please.”

“Anytime,” Victor promises and pulls out his fingers. Yūri whines at the loss, but he hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then Victor’s hands are back on his hips, Victor’s broad thighs settling behind his own. He can feel Victor guiding his cock to his entrance, and then he’s just resting the blunt head against Yūri’s rim for a moment, and it’s so close to what Yūri needs but not quite enough; he pushes back to try to get Victor inside for real.

Victor kisses his shoulder blade, his neck, and then he finally pushes in, ever so slowly. “Fuck,” Victor says into Yūri’s skin, each word a caress of tone and lips on skin, “You’re so tight, Лучик, I think you’re killing me.”

Victor’s words seem to go straight to Yūri’s already throbbing cock, and he needs more, like, now, but Victor keeps up with his glacial pace as if Yūri is fragile, as if he can’t take it. He totally can.

And yet--Victor still feels so very big inside him, stretching him in all the best ways, the burn reminiscent of hard worked muscles after a demanding training session, and maybe it’s wrong of Yūri to associate that with please, but he does, and he can’t help but wriggle his hips once Victor is fully seated, making the hard length of his cock brush over his prostate. “Want—want your voice,” Yūri manages to get out, and he thinks Victor gets it, from the smile in his voice as he asks, “Ready?”,  tightening his grip on Yūri’s hips.

Yūri moans in response, and Victor pulls out an inch or so and slams back in, setting up a nice rhythm. He changes his angle with every thrust until he makes Yūri see stars every time he pushes in, has him moaning almost nonstop. “So good, Лучик, taking me like a champ,” he says, his mouth so close to Yūri’s ear that his lips are brushing the lobe with each word, and that has Yūri shivering again. His body is on fire in a good way now, like an itch that is being scratched.

It feels little like Victor is pulling him pack into his own body, grounding him in the here and now with every thrust, until Yūri’s brain is addled not by the haze of the pollen but by the sheer pleasure that comes from Victor fucking into him, until his world narrow down to the pleasure sparking from his prostate and running over his body like a web with its center in his groin.

Yūri feels one of Victor’s hands leave his hip, stroke forward towards Yūri’s abdomen and then up his chest, missing both his cock and his nipples by such a slim margin he can’t help but whine again, and Victor kisses hi throat in apology, and this time when his hand moves back down towards Yūri’s pelvis, he doesn’t stop until he’s reached the base of Yūri’s cock.

His first strike his teasing, just his fingertips up the length until he reaches the head and then back down again, and Yūri can’t resist, works one of his own arms free and reaches down to wrap his hand around Victor’s. It’s a mesmerizing sight, Yūri’s darker skinned hand wrapped around Viktor’s pale one, their rings glinting whenever the lights catch on them, wrapped around Yūri’s flushed cock; and it doesn’t take more than four, maybe five strokes until Yūri can feel himself hurtling towards the edge, and Victor slams in one last time, grinding his hips into Yūri, grinding his _cock_ into Yūri’s prostate as Yūri’s world explodes into pleasure that spreads from his groin into his toes, making them curl, and through his chest into his arms and fingers, making him shake with the pleasure. Victor curses, his hips still working in small circles as Yūri’s ass spasms around him, and he can actually feel Victor come, his cock pulsing as he finds release just as the whiteness recedes from Yūri’s vision.

Victor collapses heavily onto Yūri’s back, just staying there for a moment before pulling out and trying ineffectually to get the covers out from under them. Yūri isn’t quite sure how he manages, but the last thing he feels before blessed sleep claims him is Victor wrapping himself and the blanket around him.

~*~

Yūri is woken from sound sleep by nimble fingers rolling a condom onto his cock, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Victor kneel above him, a look of concentration on his face as he lowers himself onto Yūri’s cock.

Yūri’s fists clench into the bedding, loosening gradually once Victor stops.

“Gods,” he says, voice breathy and rough from both sleep and his arousal, “give a man some warning.”

Victor grins cheekily and starts rolling his hips, which has Yūri feeling like he wants to claw out of his skin with pleasure. But something—something is missing.

“Wait—let me—“ He stills Victor with a hand on his hip, and then sets his feet into the mattress and pushes both of them up towards the head of the bed so he’s half propped up against the headboard. It should change the angle for the better for Victor too.

This time when Victor rises up and sinks back down, Yūri can see the pleasure on his face, and it’s echoed in his tone as he says, “Fuuuuuck,”  voice catching on the fricative.

Yūri is trying hard to let Victor set the pace, but the closer he gets to his own orgasm, the more his hips seem to just twitch up. “Yeah, come on, work with me,” Victor says, and he is _way_ too coherent for this, way too coach-like.

A growl makes its way up Yūri’s throat, and he grips Victor’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, quickening the pace. Victor _smiles_ of all things, and leans down to kiss Yūri, hands roaming over his chest and tweaking his nipples and it’s too much, Yūri can’t, it’s--  
“Come for me, katsudon,” Victor says against his lips, and Yūri does just that, hips stuttering up and in and in as his orgasm rolls over him.

“Gods.” Yūri exhales shakily into Victor’s neck, trying to slow his racing heart before he remembers that while he has come, Victor hasn’t. He pushes Victor up and off his cock and tries to convey what he wants to do without saying so, guiding Victor up his chest. Victor goes willingly, and then his cock is right in front of Yūri’s face, and it feels good in a totally different way to suck him in.

In doesn’t take long before Victor has his hands buried in Yūri’s hair, obviously trying not to set the pace, and it takes Yūri pulling off and telling him, again, “Come on, fuck my mouth,” before he properly gets going.

Before too long, Victor’s shallow thrusts get more and more erratic, and Yūri takes over again, paying more attention to the head while one of his hands finds Victor’s balls. Victor tries to make him pull off with a jerky, “I’m—I’m coming,” but Yūri just redoubles his efforts until Victor’s hips still and his cock is pulsing his relief into Yūri’s mouth.

Victor slides back down before collapsing heavily into Yūri’s side, and within seconds, he’s asleep again. He looks beautiful like this, like a sleeping angel, and with a smile on his lips, Yūri follows him.

~*~

The next time Yūri wakes, it’s to Victor moaning as his cock slides between Yūri’s ass cheeks, catching on his hole at every other thrust or so. For a moment, Yūri considers getting a condom, but they’ve talked about it, even fucked without one before, so he doesn’t, simply reaches behind himself—and yes, he is still damp and slick from their earlier round, so nothing is stopping him from grasping Victor’s erection and guiding it to his hole.

He carefully pushes back, spearing himself on his fiancé’s cock, and he can hear the exact moment Victor wakes, because he gasps and slams home in a single thrust. Yūri moans, tilting his hips to make Victor’s cock move inside of him ever so slightly, and then Victor sighs into his neck and gets with the program, setting a slow rhythm.

They fuck like this, both on their sides, Victor curled around his back, lazily, working their way to orgasms without the hurry from before and this, this is so much better than the frenzied fucking. Victor kisses his neck and murmurs an incomprehensible string of Russian into Yūri’s ear, and Yūri finds his hand and links their fingers, and when he comes, it’s less jumping off a cliff and more being picked up by a wave and carried higher and higher with every thrust. Victor follows  a couple of thrusts later, soon enough that Yūri is still riding his high, and he is gentle when he pulls out, considerate of Yūri’s overworked and oversensitive body.

Yūri turns in his arms so they’re chest to chest and tries to escape the wet spot on his side of the bed.

“We really need to tell Chris to be more careful with the stuff he accepts from fans,” he says.

“Well,” says Victor, “it could have been worse. I mean, I already knew about your feral sexuality, even if you don’t remember it.” He grins.

Yūri considers swatting at him, but it feels like it takes too much effort. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, truthful, and Victor’s grin changes into the sort of smile that Yūri likes to think is just for him. Victor draws him closer, kissing him gently, his hand running along the length of Yūri’s back.

“So are you,” Victor promises and kisses Yūri again.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go, the first thing I've posted in almost two years, and of course it's porn. Figures ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading, and while I don't post a lot of YOI stuff, I'm always happy to chat over on [tumblr](xianvar.tumblr.com)!


End file.
